


Release

by fewlmewn (Shouriko)



Series: Recovery [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Rite of Tranquility, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2680406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shouriko/pseuds/fewlmewn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Covers the time between DA2 and DA:I (no spoilers):</p>
<p>Meredith has been defeated. Cullen is the new Knight-Commander of the Gallows and his duties have multiplied tenfold. Amid the chaos the conflict left behind, he's alone to face Kirkwall's future, the Circle's future and the Order's. But then Carver Hawke comes back and maybe he's not alone after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my first time ever writing this much, November has been very prolific for me. I hope you'll like it. I still don't know how long this is going to be because as I write I find more and more sides to Cullen and Carver I want to explore so... yeah. Enjoy!  
> Disclaimer: I never read the codex entries so I apologize in advance if some Templar Order/Chantry related things are off. I also never played Templar Carver (I made him a Grey Warden) so I took my chances trying to write him without first-hand experience. And some things are tweaked to fit in.

He laid bare on his large bed, sheets pulled aside, as were his smallclothes. A brief moment of indulgence before setting off to another day of tiring rebuilding. The perks and downsides of being the new Knight-Commander of the Templars were many but far apart. He had privacy, a comfortable bed with a separate bathing chamber to use at his own discretion, but he also had the crushing duty to fix all the wrongs the conflict within the city, and the Gallows, brought down on them. Moments of pleasure like this were all he had lately, and he didn't take much of an advantage of his newly found solitude nor his soft and clean bedclothes. If anything, the loneliness and the cold and detached behaviour he took when ordering around the few recruits that were left alive were slowly depriving him of interest on almost anything. He took no pleasure in admonishing the young templars whenever something went wrong, and the memory of the tight lipped grin Meredith had painted on her stern features when she was occupied in the same task reminded him that he was right. There was nothing gratifying about having to scold this or that boy. The war had taken enough out of all of them without having to push matters further. It was completely understandable errors were being made, considering how all the templars he had left to control were freshly initiated boys and stubborn old men who survived Hawke's and his companions wrath by an inch. But he be damned if he was going to think about them all, now of all times.

He stroked himself lazily feigning ignorance at the lust that was building in his groin, the bead of clear precome that stemmed from the head of his cock was the first sign of his loosened inhibitions. With a careless movement he went to slide the liquid around with his thumb, only to whimper lightly at the touch on the neglected and sensitive skin. He closed his eyes shyly, the certainty someone could have slammed his door open to call him to meet Meredith still fresh, despite his new accommodation. No, thinking of Meredith was not going to help, that treacherous harpy. Hiding behind closed eyelids, Cullen started thinking of pleasurable thoughts. A pair of lips closing over his manhood, licking and sucking lightly at first, aware of his latest lack of familiarity. The touches and tugs grew more confident, and his hand was replaced by a ghost, unidentified slender fingers taking care of him after a long time. The muscles in his forearm threatened to cramp at the repetitive movements. All he had in the past few months were swings of his sword at the practice grounds, and later at the heart of the very Gallows, against Meredith, of all foes. There he was again, he should have banished the thoughts of the woman for once, but the stress had built, layer upon layer in the past months, and years, and there was little he could do to keep her off his mind. He went back to his fantasies, hoping not to succumb to demons in this long forsaken moment of gratification. Unsure of what to imagine, he went back at the warm tight heat of the lips, all the while his movements were growing progressively more erratic. He was close, and the coiling, burning sensation at the base of his cock was too much to ignore. Half disappointed for lasting such a short time, half satisfied for finally being able to give in to his physical needs, he came in white, thick spurts all over his abdomen, which clenched for the first time in ages under the ripples of orgasm, instead of responding to a blow from a sword or a gauntleted hand.

 

Without time to bask in the sensation, a knock at the door had him scrambling like an adolescent caught red handed and he instinctively reached for his sheet, before realizing the door had a latch now and it was firmly secured.

"Y-Yes?" Cullen cleared his throat at the best of his possibilities, it was dry and a bit hoarse for the stifled moans he didn't let escape his lips only moments earlier.

"There's Carver Hawke waiting for you in the courtyard, Knight-Commander." A familiar but otherwise generic male voice stated beyond the thick wooden door.

"Very well, I will arrive shortly. Dismissed." And in a few seconds, he was already up his feet, fixing his smallclothes, cleaning his stomach with a damp cloth and starting to put on his Templar armour, the flaming sword looking back to him from the front of the breast plate like a challenge.

 

"Hawke, strange to see you. I thought you would have been gone for good." He tried a smile but he couldn't really find it in himself. Carver was a strong warrior, and when he followed his older sibling back to the docks after defeating Meredith, he lost all hope of having a reasonable companion among the templars ever again.

"I just bid farewell to my brother and there were matters to be settled at the estate we couldn't ignore. I took a vow, I'm not walking away. And you're the new Knight-Commander, so I've heard. It'll be a pleasure to work under your direction, if you'll have me." Carver explained himself, knowing that there could have been consequences for walking away from the battlefield so soon after it was over, leaving the Templars’ side for an apostate. Granted, said apostate was the Champion of Kirkwall and it had been his detachment from the sides of the conflict to bring them all to clarity in front of Meredith's thirst for power and mindless threats, but all things considered, it would have been better of Carver to indulge in the Gallows a while longer.

"I don't have room for acting hard to get, I need all the men I can and you proved your loyalty enough for what concerns me. If anyone complains, I'll remind them how close they were to siding with the one who proved to be under the influence of a lyrium idol. We both knew something was wrong, thanks for coming back, I really need someone like you if I want to fix this mess. Welcome back on board, Hawke." It was a sincere smile that escaped Cullen's otherwise sulky expression this time, and he amicably patted the younger man's armoured shoulder.

 

Garrett Hawke had left Kirkwall at once, gone for Maker knows what other incredible quests. Varric Tethras was still around settling his brother's businesses with the guild, and taking care of Hawke's estate in his absence. The others quickly scrambled out of town, or the Free Marches altogether. Apparently the Vael Prince was set onto his personal revenge for the Chantry affair and was willing to storm Kirkwall to get back at Garrett Hawke for sparing the apostate behind the explosion. As for the mage himself, Cullen honestly didn't care any longer. As far as he'd heard, all the blood magic Anders did was healing people for free down in Darktown and as much as a bad light this shed on the presumably charitable and compassionate Chantry, it was no crime he intended to pursue. The explosion of the Chantry itself, on the other hand, he could have taken into consideration, but with the Gallows in no better condition, Cullen was determined to leave this to the Guard.

And now that Anders was gone, possibly into hiding, maybe even dead or back with the Wardens, there was no spirit possession that could have made Cullen take off to chase him. The apostate was gone, unless someone outright saw him, Cullen was sure as the Void he wouldn't have gone looking for him. When he was still a recruit at Kinloch, the older templars said all sorts of things about the apostate and the fact that more often than not a party had to leave to search for the mage, freshly escaped, made his stomach churn at the thought. Anders was good at running away, and Cullen, in the present state of things, was not good enough at chasing to leave Kirkwall behind. And he'd been appointed as the new Knight-Commander so he didn't really have a choice. But he otherwise chose not to send out a search party.

 

The day went smoothly enough, the corpses around the city still too many to really start thinking about fixing the rest. The awful stench of burned skin made everything both worse and easier. Many of the recruits weren't exactly used to the smell and stopped often to retch in a corner or to let themselves off for some fresh air but at the same time those who lived or had business in Lowtown and at the Docks gave an hand with the removal of the bodies, equally disgusted by their presence. Those staves who hadn't burned to ashes, made partially or completely in metal, were the only indicator to tell mages apart from casualties and many templars were nothing more than wretched limbs. Cullen's experience told him that a good combination of ice spells and stonefists could have shattered their armour with a little bit of effort, so there was no point in trying to tell the corpses apart, really. Besides, Cullen himself refused to blame the mages completely. They had fought back, that was clear, but Meredith's request for Annullment had been rushed and ill-advised in the first place, he really couldn't blame the mages for defending themselves in front of such a threat.

He dismissed the recruits by instructing them to collect any corpse who looked like a templar, knowing that they were going to have as much as a hard time as he had telling them apart. He was going to give them all a decent parting, at best as he could without a Chantry, that was.

Yes, the Chantry. With it gone and part of Hightown severely damaged, the nobles fled to neighbouring cities, and those who remained either spent their days to complain at the Keep or moping around the streets, without moving a finger to actually help. Cullen was no noble, and many used to tell him he was rather humble for how he took care of the duties he was assigned, but even if he had been wealthy and full of himself, although he couldn't even begin to image what that would have been like for him, he felt like he would have done anything to help his own city. But apparently he was deluded and the nobles weren't actually that fond of Kirkwall itself as they were of the city's rather wealthy reputation. Docks that are the heart of the trade routes, the merchants' guild presence in town, position of favour among Thedas' territories. All of those threatened more or less by the conflict that was slowly surging among the templars and the mages across the circles everywhere, and the destruction of the Chantry in the middle of the city made everything tenfold worse. But there was only so much Cullen could take care of and the rest was up to the City Guard. He didn't envy Aveline Vallen in the least.

 

The next weeks were spent collecting mages from the Wounded Coast, where they hid, afraid of the Templars' rage that was likely to rain down upon them after Orsino's actions. But Cullen treasured human lives as much as he treasured his duty as a Templar, and wouldn't have allowed senseless bloodshed.

Luckily enough, none of the escaped mages opposed, none resorted to blood magic or made deals with demons, much to Cullen's own surprise. Maybe they had arrived soon enough to mitigate further conflict, maybe there was a sense of safety in the knight's eyes that reassured them all that things would have been different if they went back to the Gallows without fighting back. Cullen couldn't have feigned such thoughts that indeed came through when he looked at the scared mages before him, he was determined to change things among templars and mages, to the Void those who wanted to take further Meredith's heartless methods. He agreed only so much, and not after what had happened with Hawke.

After Uldred's uprising at the Tower, Cullen was sure he wouldn't have been able to trust another mage, not ever. But he did trust Garrett Hawke, an apostate on top of all things, and what Meredith had done proved by far that demons hide behind anyone, not just mages. Of course those who are more familiar with the Fade are also more subject to falter in front of demons' promises and temptations, but they are also strong willed because of that. Much like he himself was entrusted with a sword, knowing that he wouldn't have killed the first fool who crossed him, or the first mage who looked at him sideways and full of hatred just for the position he held. Meredith apparently didn't receive the same lecture at the time she was recruited, but Cullen also knew the woman had a dreadful adolescence and if the rumours were to be believed, she had reason to hate on mages. All the more reason not to become a templar. Her mind had been clouded by vengeful thoughts long before she came into possession of the lyrium idol. The more time Cullen had to himself, the weight of his new role as Knight-Commander oppressing and constricting, the more he reasoned how Meredith didn't grow such hatred for mages like feathers on a griffin, under the influence of the statuette, but the idol merely collected and fuelled feelings the woman already had.

The man had seen what happens when the worst comes out of mages and templars alike and he swore to himself, mainly because the was no statue of the Maker to swear in front of anymore, he would never have oppressed mages or templars again.

The lyrium idol had its effect on Meredith but on other templars as well. Perhaps the meaningless and empty requests Cullen received to visit the Knight-Commander in her office were driven by the chant that filled the woman's ears, a call from the statue to enthrall the Knight-Captain as well, by forcing him to stay in the small office longer than necessary. For a long time the man had felt like he wasn't completely in control when it came to his actions, many times over he felt like taking Garrett Hawke by force, or worse, kill him there and then, but the presence of Carver stopped him, almost like a bond with reality. Inexplicably so, he had spent the past years filled and surrounded by a thick cloud that fogged his judgement. He couldn't kill the Champion, he couldn't kill a good man, but why did he want to? Now that Meredith had been defeated, he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note: I haven't played DA:I yet, but I've read some things about Cullen and I tried to make this fic work, time wise. It's set after DA2 and before the beginning of DA:I and I tried to connect the two in some points and with some events that I know will happen later. But you'll read about these things I'm talking about in the next chapters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight-Commander Cullen is oppressed by duty. And the thoughts of a certain templar.

While he was, as usual, distracted with these thoughts, someone cleared his throat rather obnoxiously in front of him. His eyes came into focus and he was greeted with the kind features of Carver Hawke. The boy had been around rather often, which was even more obvious when there was barely a handful of templars around at all times, but Hawke was almost always among them. Perhaps he wanted to prove his loyalty, perhaps he felt close to the Knight-Commander for the events with Meredith and wanted to be there in case Cullen needed him, but that was more likely just wishful thinking on his part.

"We're done, the mages are all in their quarters and the First Enchanter would like to speak to you about her duties." He explained, matter-of-factly.

"Yes, she's young but very capable and compliant, I'll go talk to her at once, thank you Corporal." He nodded resolutely, knowing that a long discussion was soon to follow. Hawke made a small bow and said "Knight-Commander" with a low voice, as if intended for the two of them and no one else, and Cullen really couldn't give himself an explanation for that or if he had just imagined it, but it made his chest ache all the same. Maybe out of fear of not being able to live up to the title, or perhaps for the honesty in the man's words, that made the title ring true when all of the others who used that to refer to him sounded mocking.

After a few steps, as Carver was already leaving to attend to whatever it was he needed to take care of, Cullen came to an halt and called back to the young templar.

"And thank you for everything else, too. For... you know, sticking around. Thank you Hawke." A smile that didn't reach his eyes nor the side of his mouth that was left hanging sadly on his tired face.

 

The talk with Lenwen went better than expected, they settled a curfew for the mages, more for their own safety than anything else, rumour had it some nobles were still very much angry at the Circle for destroying the Chantry and no amount of explaining could make them change their accusations. But aside from that, Cullen decided to loosen the leash he didn't know he was keeping around the mages. They could walk through the Templar Hall, that was soon to be renamed not to ring like a threat to all those who stepped foot in it, freely, and train all over the Gallows in specifically built training grounds for spellcasting. It would have been far more safe for everyone to practice firebolts and lightning out in the open against straw mannequins rather than shooting inside with curtains and robes prone to catching on fire, or yet again not practicing at all. If the templars could train with the use of swords and shields, so the mages had to be allowed to make use of their spells, if anything to hone the abilities the Maker gave them. Theoretical lessons on history of magic and the various schools were to be resumed as well, a better understanding of magehood would have favoured templars and mages alike. Other less important details were discussed as well, like housing and rules for both apprentices, harrowed mages, enchanters, recruits and full-fledged templars. The discussion wasn't so much as boring as it was mentally draining. No spells involved, but it had been a long day and there was only so much he could take before his head started throbbing annoyingly, and it did.

 

Begrudgingly he walked back to his room, it wasn't like he could ask the First Enchanter to do something for his headache, it would have been inconsiderate and offensive. But he regretted not trying. The bath would have had to do, hopefully it would have helped ease his nerves and his tensed muscles. Sometimes he envied mages, which felt very wrong because he knew how some of them felt their own powers weighting them down like a curse the Maker cast upon them, and Cullen knew what magic and templars alike could do to torture someone, but as he waited for the water to become warmer, dozing off, impatient for some relief, he really envied being able to heat the water with a swirl of a firebolted hand. When the water reached a reasonable temperature, he lowered himself in, his armour safely stashed in his wardrobe and his sword balanced on the side of the bathtub, in case something happened. He really hoped it wouldn't. Having to rush off his room in nothing but a sheath and a drawn sword was not his idea of a relaxing evening.

 

The water felt nice and definitely worked its magic nonetheless, despite being simply infused with some soap and fragrances to wash off the stench of sweat that clung to his skin like a leech. No fancy flowers adorned the simple wooden bathtub, the water was cloudy but pleasant and Cullen drifted off, his body finally lax after a tiring workday.

He closed his eyes slowly and even more slowly he lowered further under the surface, until his legs were uncomfortably bent and his knees were piercing out of the water like rocks on a shoreline. His hunched shoulders dragged on the wooden planks and Cullen went briefly underwater, only to resurface moments later, only his nose sticking out. He stayed like that for Maker knows how long, half tensed for the fear of falling asleep and drowning to his death, half relaxed, as if welcoming that fate. His head still pained him, but it had become more of a dull ache, annoying but tolerable. Cullen stilled for a while, wondering if it would have been better or worse if he decided to pleasure himself then. It had been a long time since last time, more than he felt was acceptable for a man his age. He was still young, and others the same age as him probably visited the Blooming Rose more often than not, but Cullen was vexed beyond control with duty after duty and didn't have much time to spend alone, much less to relieve himself. Finally, the man settled that it would do no harm for a quick stroke or two. Given his latest , non-existent encounters, he wouldn't have lasted very long, so really it wasn't even up for discussion. Let’s do this, and it’ll be better then.

His hand floated below, between his legs, and his body was almost too tired to respond to the first few tentative tugs, but since his eyes were already closed, his mind supplied some images as an incentive.

Drawing his knees apart to settle his hand more comfortably, he started thinking of pleasant things. The warm water surrounding him helped, licking at his neck almost sweetly, while the aromatic scent engulfed him. Inside his head it was a real tongue leaving a wet trail behind his ear and the floating sensation of the bath turned into a pair of strong hands lifting him up. He then realized his mind was supplying images of men, it wasn't the first time. Cullen had little to no experience with men, the only intimate moments spent with another male having been brief moments in the dressing rooms when he was a recruit, or in the dormitory at the Chantry. Thinking of the Chantry was not helping any, he'd rather be thinking of men than lay sisters in long, heavy robes. Despite his inexperience he didn't dare hide to himself that he found the male figure extremely stimulating, but he managed to keep his opinions at bay whenever he was together with others. He realized, then, how he sort of missed being back in the recruits' quarters, he had more time for himself back when he was at close contact with the other templars that he had now in his private chambers, alone.

Cullen let himself go and went back to those firm hands that were hauling him upwards, when in truth it was just the push of the water, and at the thought his cock finally stirred in interest.

He swirled a thumb at the tip of his half hard dick, feeling a viscous hint like a thread in the water. He bit his lip, aware that he was going in the right direction. Now, behind his closed eyelids, the image of lips, parting red and wet over his straining member was summoned, and perhaps the feeling of a faint stubble on his thigh. No, not stubble, it was a sharp jawline, jutting against his groin with every bob of an imaginary head. Every fantasy was a stroke he drew over his cock, almost exasperated as the water stirred and flowed over his tensed muscles. He wanted to be relaxed, but what he was doing caused the opposite effect on his body and every tendon ached in a good way. He enjoyed the light burn of every stretch of muscle. His face was now a frown, focused to get to completion. His strokes became erratic, and deepened as much as the mouth he envisioned took his length further down, sucking at it and swallowing around him in ways he believed to be impossible in real life.

He was close, very close and with the last stroke the anonymous man in his head raised his face from where it was buried between his thighs.

Cullen came hard, streaks of white semen mixing with the already cloudy water, at the thought of Carver Hawke.

He immediately shot his eyes open, the faint light that shined from the lit torches on the walls however was still too much for him and he fluttered his eyelids as if he had been shocked, and he didn't feel far from having been actually pierced through with lightning.

As he came down from the height of his orgasm, he wondered how much of his fantasy had been Carver, or if it turned into him at the last second, his mind playing tricks on him. For a fleeting moment he worried that it was actually the man's face, inches from his own, that he saw after opening his eyes, but it would have been impossible. The door to the bathing chamber was locked, and probably the door to his room was closed shut as well, provided he hadn't been tired enough to forget the latch when he came back. But the door to the bath was most certainly secured. It was just a fantasy then. But why? He couldn't deny the remarkable physique of the templar, and his piercing blue eyes and the full lips that stretched over a fond smile whenever the younger man graced him with one. But going from appreciation to... whatever had just happened was inconceivable and definitely not professional.

He tugged at his dick one last time, eliciting a shudder that started from his spine and travelled through his whole body, and exited the bath, aware of not having cleaned himself at all, but the soak did its job and the perfumed linens would have done the rest. What just happened managed to both relieve him of some pressure and sending him deeper in the realms of fatigue. He just wanted to lay in bed and rest until morning. He knew desire demons held no control over him, at least for the night, but he didn't know if other visions of Hawke would have pursued him in his sleep. Perhaps running along with him in the Fade in nothing but a templar sword and shield, straddling him and fighting with him back to back. His dick would have probably twitched anew at the thought but Cullen was drained of energy and decided against it, whatever that was.

He pulled up the blanket and he felt trapped, but the weight helped him let himself go, leave all tension behind. He fell into the Fade, swimming yet once again, the familiar face of Carver by his side, welcoming.

 

The next day he was uneasy around his subordinates, his rediscovered inclination stirring inside of him as if it just woke up from a long slumber. He couldn't let this happen, so he mustered all of his good-will and went on with his day, determined to be as professional as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to go too deep with the explanation of how Cullen and the new First Enchanter intend to rebuild the Circle and the Gallows, mostly because there's a lot more politics to it than I'm comfortable thinking about, but the general idea is that mages have more freedom and finally Knight-Commander and First Enchanter collaborate to get along and make mages and templars happy and respectful in their mutual duties.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is a weak, weak man. And Carver knows him too well. More than the Knight-Commander knows himself, perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be of varying lengths, I didn't write this with chapters in mind so I have to select the chunks of text that have to stick together in a chapter and those who can be posted apart from each other. As a result, this is kind of short, some others will be very long.

There were new recruits starting their training in the courtyard and of all people it was Hawke teaching them how to block attacks done with staves. It happened often, especially with apprentices who had stolen one or with mages who had run out of mana that the staff was used as a spear instead and considering Hawke's experiences with his brother, he had volunteered to practice with the new boys.

The way he maneuvered the long staff, borrowed from one of the Tranquils who sold wares not too far away from the training grounds, was of an incredible elegance. Swiftly the weapon passed from hand to hand behind his back, whirling above his head, coming down quickly but coming to an halt just above an unaware recruit's helm.

"If I were a mage, no mana would have still been enough mana to stun you with that blow. A bit, but you'd be stunned. The spell or the staff on your head, you chose. Now, if you want to block a staff, you should-" Cullen heard his reasoning from where he froze at the top of the stairs. The first thing he noticed were his strong hands, gripping firmly the staff but sending it in the air gracefully. It must be an Hawke thing, he'd seen Garrett do the same but he couldn't explain to himself how Carver's warrior hands could manage to be at ease with a mage's staff.

And then Cullen did a double take and realized the templar was wearing nothing but his breeches and leather boots, clearly to be more comfortable handling the unusual weapon, but more unusual was the man's attire. The Knight-Commander was starting to feel uneasy, almost sick to his stomach at the sight. And when he thought he couldn't have stayed any longer, the younger man approached him, a spring in his step.

"Knight-Commander Cullen! I'm training the new recruits." Cullen nodded, trying not to notice how the chest of Hawke was heaving with deep breaths, glistening in sweat at the smallest movement, and his sun-kissed skin getting peppered in freckles where shoulder met neck. He tried not to care but he was a weak man, right then, and the memory of the previous night still too fresh to be ignored and pushed into a far and forgotten corner of his mind.

"I just wanted to say that there is something I need to talk about with you, if that's alright I wish to see you in your office, later. Knight-Commander." Maker's mercy, that last appellation went straight to his nether regions and he was ever so thankful for his armour, but he involuntarily drew his sheath closer to his front to hide behind it, feeling as if the Templar robes wouldn't have been enough if something were to happen, although he wished it didn't.

"Very well, I'll be in my office all day, come freely when it's most convenient for you. Dismissed, Hawke." He felt the need to assess his superiority somehow, but the last order came out shaky and hesitant, he only hoped the templar complied. But Carver just had to shoot an uncertain look at him before nodding and going back to the recruits. Cullen felt as if he could sank through the staircase.

 

When he retreated back into his office, Meredith's office, he felt lonely yet once again. He didn't dare touch anything on the desk or the shelves, even if Meredith had been gone for a couple of months. With fevered hands, Cullen sank into his drawer and grabbed a lyrium bottle he downed in three big chugs, feeling relief washing over him. Perhaps it was the red lyrium idol that had been kept in the room for years that still influenced him, or maybe he just mistook the shivers of arousal for effects of the lack of lyrium. He'd been so busy lately and the First Enchanter so agreeable he would have forgotten to drink a vial of the substance or two from time to time if it hadn't been for the unsteadiness of his fingers on the quill as he wrote or the cold sweat he broke into in the middle of the courtyard.

He waited all day for something he didn't know he was looking forward to, and it grew harder to concentrate on his papers. It was almost nightfall, and he was about to rose from his seat to go to supper when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in." He just hoped his expectation wouldn't get shattered.

"Knight-Commander Cullen." Hawke entered with a shallow bow, polite but not overly sycophantic.

"What did you want to talk about?" He was worried, he admitted as much to himself.

"Nothing, really, I just felt you could use some commendation. Everything's been going smoothly around here and it's all thanks to you. I've spoken to some mages and they confirmed they finally feel safe, and most definitely not oppressed. Some of the senior templars are still uncertain of your abilities in leadership but there's not one recruit who doesn't believe in your capability. I'm among them, of course. I just wanted you to know that even behind closed doors, everyone thinks you're doing a very good job as Knight-Commander. Don't be too hard on yourself. Excuse my insolence for speaking directly, Knight-Commander." A weird expression of discomfort and embarrassment blossomed over Carver's features as he spoke.

"I... I don't know what to say. Thank you for telling me Hawke. I won't hide it, you already figured out I've been beating myself over it, so I might as well admit to it. It's stressful, but it's my duty. I am grateful that you decided to share your findings with me." He took a deep breath he didn't notice he was holding in. Cullen stood and went around the desk to lay an armoured hand on Hawke's shoulder and he was glad the younger man had put his Templar robes back on.

He looked ten years older, he wasn't suited to be Knight-Commander, not now, perhaps not ever, but his sense of duty had the best over his sense of self preservation and his energies were gradually wearing thinner.

"You deserve it, Cullen. Knight-Commander." Carver added with a blurt at the end, to correct his excess of familiarity. But realizing he might have come through as if he was fending off a superior, he placed a gauntleted hand on Cullen's forearm, to reassure him, perhaps, and gave a warm smile to the older man who in turn felt as if his knees could give out any second at that simple gesture.

But it was more than that. Cullen's mind decided it was a good time to start playing tricks on him again and the friendly pressure of Hawke's hand where his arm folded at the elbow was twisted into a depraved thought, and the Knight felt like all he wanted was for Carver to push him back against the desk, brace his hands on the edges of the wooden surface and lower himself over him, armour clanging against armour, possessive and demanding, to kiss him deeply and claim his mouth. He reluctantly pushed aside such thoughts, the embarrassment evident as his cheeks flushed furiously, leaving Carver once again puzzled at the conflicting emotions running over his Commander's features.

 

When he retired to his room that night, Cullen slept on his stomach, arms thrown out like a cross on the soft sheets, not trusting himself nor his hands from wandering south, but aware of the fact he would've eventually shifted his weight on the mattress to relieve himself while he inevitably dreamt of what he couldn't accomplish in person. When he woke, he was drenched in sweat and a straining erection complained from under his body.


	4. Chapter 4

It was hard to restrain himself, but the following days were more hectic than usual and his mind had more important places to be than a lustful fantasy. It seemed that Cullen's regime at the Gallows made everyone around Kirkwall trust the Order more, and without the superimposing control from the Chantry, more and more families with children who displayed magic abilities felt comfortable entrusting their kids to the Templars. The Knight-Commander along with Lenwen had come to the conclusion that the mages might be visited by their families twice a week, two afternoons and once in the morning as well. This way no one should have wanted to escape as often and the relatives of those living inside the Gallows could have seen for themselves how things had changed, and perhaps this stupid conflict that had been throwing the whole city into a never-ending turmoil would have finally stopped. A new Grand Cleric was about to be sent from Orlais, finally, because the provisions of lyrium potions had been running low as of late and Cullen would have preferred to go through official channels to restock, although some suspicious elven lady had started eyeing him whenever he entered Hightown from the Docks and he suspected she was a smuggler, ready to make a deal whenever he was. He himself had started drinking lyrium as rarely as possible, since a few new templars had taken their vows in the last week and he feared some of the seniors would have gone mad without their heavy doses of the blue liquid at hand. So, being the Knight-Commander, he sacrificed his own ration in favour of the new recruits.

 

Something that resembled a Chantry was annexed to Viscount’s Keep, as if there wasn't enough going on over there already. Aveline was doing an exceptional job, however, even though there wasn't a new Viscount yet and the nobles were clawing at each other's faces now that the Champion was gone for good. She came regularly over at the Gallows and Cullen went to the Keep as often to exchange news and plans of action with her for matters that concerned the whole city. Darktown had fallen to new depths, and Cullen was wary of the importance the apostate's clinic used to hold before the conflict sparked. At the makeshift Chantry there were more beggars and sick people than ever before, and the Knight realized with an heavy heart just how much hypocrisy laid in the old Chantry, who did absolutely nothing for the needy. Had it not been an apostate who blew the place to the Heavens, he would have praised the blighted man, at least now that he knew how useless and negligent the Chantry was. But his opinion was hypocritical as well, judging after the deeds were done was equally as useless, and many good men and women were killed with the blast. Violence was not a solution and if there was a good thing to come out of his new role as Knight-Commander, he would have made it his mission for it to be a Circle with no violence among Templars and Mages. It wasn't going to be easy and the hardships he went through to make it all possible were getting back at him whenever he stopped for a moment during his packed workdays. The lyrium withdrawal was starting to affect him as well, and he found himself stalking to the First Enchanter's office in a fit of hallucination. He could have sworn to having seen a rage demon surge from the middle of Templar's Hall, but when no one as much as moved a finger he knew he was just imagining it. At this rate he could have been a danger to everyone, and the Enchanter would have most definitely made an exception and break out the emergency stash.

 

It was almost sunset when he knocked on her door and the woman let him in. He explained the situation, without having much to explain, really. Cullen had a good relationship with Lenwen and the woman was well aware of the lyrium situation and praised him once again for his selflessness as she rummaged into her cabinet for some lyrium dust and other reagents.

"Take this now, it's not too strong. It'll ease you back to lyrium. If you drank a normal one in your current state you'd end up with more than a few hallucinations, we'd probably find you naked, swimming all the way to Lowtown. Before going to bed, drink this. This one's way stronger, but it'll work overnight, you'll wake up as good as new. See, this is what happens when First Enchanters and Knight-Commanders get along. You don't act like a deranged templar and run to the smugglers for badly mixed lyrium that'd do more damage than it'd do good, and I don't try to poison you at the first chance I get. Good night, Knight-Commander." She smiled softly, handing him the two vials, one slightly brighter than the other and the liquid inside looked as if it sparkled somehow.

"Thank you again, First Enchanter. I know I can trust you to keep quiet about this."

"I have no idea what you don't want others to know, that you're human like anybody else or that you're a reckless, generous Commander. Either way, I'll keep this to myself." Her smile was so kind, and she was right. This is what happened when everything works out between templars and mages, but it was taking its toll on him.

"Goodnight, Lenwen." He offered.

"Cullen." And he was out of her office, gulping the lighter of the two vials, and putting the other safely in the satchel secured to his belt.

 

He bypassed his own office completely, he had spent enough of his day secluded in there as it was, and he forwent dinner entirely, the familiar tang of lyrium on his tongue suppressed his hunger anyway. His lips tingled like they hadn't in weeks, and despite the low dose it went to his head nonetheless. He felt light and incorporeal as he floated through dim lit hallways to his chambers. He was halfway to the templars' quarters, he had decided to take a look around the mages' quarters to see how they were faring that day, when he heard moaning coming from a side corridor, narrow and useless as it led to an empty storeroom. Perfect for a tryst. Out of curiosity, that he disguised to himself as desire to check if the moaning was not one of pain, he ventured deeper into the passage. It was way too clear the noises where ones of pleasure for him to have to make sure, but in his light-headedness he kept going further anyway. The door was not shut, the hidden lovers probably forgot to close it properly in their rush or passion. He peeked inside, just an innocent look that wouldn't have hurt anyone. Besides he wasn't in the mood to scold a recruit or an apprentice and he didn't have a strong enough opinion on relationships inside the Circle to disapprove of what was going on anyway.

When he looked inside, all he saw was a raised robe and a pair female legs, slender and fair, one planted securely on the floor and her twin quickly intertwining with a male calf, positioned between them. The room was dark, but Cullen was pretty sure the girl had red, long hair and the man a jet-black messy head of hair instead, that were sticking to his nape by the look of it.

The knight was just about to turn around to leave when the man grunted with a throaty moan he was well-acquainted with. Cullen had no time to rationalize, however, because as he started to walk away the female voiced her pleasure by stuttering low the name of Carver Hawke.

He honestly didn't know what to think, he was torn between unjustified jealousy, inexplicable envy and gut wrenching betrayal.

As soon as he was back to his room, he almost ripped off his robe and would have ripped off his armour too if he were capable of bending metal. His skin burned as if he could very nearly melt the plated braces and greaves as he unbuckled them and took them off in a haste.

When he was done, he downed the other lyrium bottle in a long swallow that burned his throat all the way down and left his mouth insensitive. He bent over to the side of his neatly done bed, clutching the sheets in a fist. The knuckles on both hands were white hot as he braced himself against the bed with his left and jerked himself off furiously with the other. He came, hard, all over the bed and his hand. He stifled a lone sob that threatened to leave his lips but he really couldn't be arsed with keeping  his pained moans to himself. To the Void if anyone heard him. And he couldn't be arsed to clean himself up, wiping his wet palm on the stained beddings instead and collapsing on the mattress. He drifted off to sleep after he managed to drape a stray blanket over his naked body, flushed and desperate for more.

 

The next day he dragged himself to the common room to eat some breakfast. He'd skipped dinner and last night left him hungry in more than one way. The demons haunted him in his sleep but in the end even the abominable temptress didn't know what to offer him. Cullen's thoughts were fogged already and the desire demon that followed him to every corner of a non-defined projection of the Fade was at a loss. Should she tempt him with the promise of having Carver punished, and unjustly so, for having a quick fuck before dinner without asking for the Commander's permission? Should she lure him in with the image of Carver, bent over a crate like the girl had been, under the feverish and starved touches of his superior, pliant and tamed? Or perhaps she could have made a deal with the knight by swearing to him he could have been the one being fucked mercilessly in dark corners within the hour if he just agreed to her bargain. Cullen never found out what his weakness was because he woke up just in time, breathing as if he’d been underwater for an eternity. Thank the Maker for that, though, because he felt dangerously close to give in at that last offer.

 

He sat down beside his lieutenant, talking about the day's tasks that awaited them. He was an older man, kind and reasonable and Cullen was grateful for his abilities as a templar and his unpleasant appearance both. The receding hairline and the deep wrinkles that made his skin look more like old parchment than something alive made wonders for the previous night's leftovers and the knight suddenly felt more at ease. Only to be completely alert back again when a well-known templar joined the rest of them, the ever present spring in his step making him almost skip all the way to the table before he finally sat down. Next, however, he gifted his Knight-Commander with a wide smile, that could easily be mistaken for a mischievous grin if Cullen hadn't been sure of being hidden when he spied on him last night. All the same, the pearl white teeth and stretched pink lips had their effect on him, and the commander wasn't entirely sure whether the look he received along with the smile was one of acknowledgement or one oblivious satisfaction. And he wasn't sure whether that made his stomach shut tight or open wider, he was torn between leaving the table altogether and abstain from yet another meal, or wolfing down anything that he could reach. Unsure of what to do, he struggled to act normally and kept on eating, gingerly, a piece of buttered toast that crunched incredibly loud in his mouth, covering all the voices that were sending him into a dazed stupor.

He politely bid a good day to everyone at his table and nodded to the First Enchanter at the other side of the room. She smiled back at him, with a bit of a quizzical look, and to that Cullen nodded more vigorously, confirming that the potions had worked. She smiled wider and went back to talk to the other mages sat around her.

The lyrium had indeed worked, he felt generally more alert and in control of his mind and body alike, but it was yet to see if given the latest events that was to be considered an improvement or not.


	5. Chapter 5

The arrival of many new apprentices at the Gallows, fuelled by the new, more tolerant rules he had agreed upon with Lenwen concerning the Circle, meant an awful lot of Harrowings to take care of. For the first time in years, the templars were polishing their swords and running whetstones over the blades not awaiting sadistically to stroke down the first possessed apprentice of the day only to claim their dreadful bets' winnings on who would have been harrowed by nightfall and who wouldn't, but they prepared their weapons in respect to the dangerous and brave Rite that awaited the young boys and girls that wanted to join the Mages of Kirkwall. It was far-fetched of him to say this, but the balance among Templars and Mages was going back to a reasonable condition of agreeable peace.

At any rate, the great amount of Harrowings that was about to come was enough to keep his mind busy, and with those thoughts, another painful memory came along to haunt him anew.

 

Carver was not the first of the Amells that made him uneasy on his feet, there had been another, before he even knew of the man's existence. Or Garrett's for all that matters now.

Lydia Amell was a beautiful girl, all smooth, fair skin and long dark hair, not quite black. Cullen couldn't hide to himself now that he thinks back to her, that he had quite the obsession for the girl, after all she came to the Circle Tower around the same time he became Templar and the two of them had spent a lot of time together. But she always declined his attentions and he was a stubborn boy at the time, a fool who didn't know better than to avoid falling in love with mages. The Templars back at Kinloch did awful things to mages, and he refused to believe he'd ever become like them. He tried to shelter Lydia from the poisonous attentions of the older knights who pestered her so much she had to run to the apprentice quarters to avoid them, they looked at her in hunger and Cullen hated being a Templar right then, because she just wouldn't trust his good intentions. Countless times he tried to have her confide in him, talk to him, but she was too shaken to even speak to him at one point. And as he tried to coax her and get in her good graces, he became as much of an affliction as those templars who had at least the decency to outright bother her. All he did, instead, was disguise his own fixations over the girl for attempts at protecting her, drawing her further as he did. But he just wouldn't let her go, he followed her wherever she went. In the end he'd been her torturer, not the others.

 

When the day came for her Harrowing he had the proof that the Maker works in strange ways, because he was the one assigned to execute her if she came back from the Fade hosting a despicable passenger.

It went so, and of all things, she took the appearance of a lewd temptress, a glimmering purple-grey skin, a beautiful slender figure. He struck her down, and the corpse transfigured back to Lydia's, long hair tangled in the blood gurgling from her slit throat. He stifled his tears, but he was also well-aware that with her gone, so were his dangerous inclination towards the young mage, and that was a relief. That night another desire demon came to visit him as he dreamt, only to taunt him. The venomous abomination told him how Lydia asked for her desire to be fulfilled and she couldn't but comply. The young girl's desire, however, was most peculiar, as she asked the temptress to rid her of a templar who was driving her insane. She'd rather be dead at Cullen's hand than come back, harrowed and safe only to be pursued by him yet again. It was a walk through the Fade the man repeated several times a night, every night for a long while, the knowledge it had been a templar, himself of all, to push a mage to deal with a demon was near to unbearable.

Then came the blood mage, who trapped him along with other Templars and for a while he was grateful to be put in front of his demons, figuratively and literally, to come to terms with the fate poor Lydia went up against because of his obsession. But then the younger templars started to falter in front of the abominations' sweet talks and coaxing, and turned against their sworn brothers, killing those who survived the tortures. Cullen had to fight his friends and some of his mentors, until he was left alone, trapped inside an invisible cage that glowed pale but felt like constricting darkness crawling under his skin. The demons tortured him then, he could hear the laughter of Uldred coming from the room, shut tightly, behind him. He saw Lydia, approaching the force field he was a prisoner of, and she spoke tenderly to him.

"I'm harrowed, now! I know how to get you out of here. Promise me that we'll be together when I free you and I'll destroy this barrier!" He almost gave in to the long awaited promise of being together with her. But then the sense of guilt came back stronger as ever, and he recalled running his sword through the side of her neck.

"You're not real, I killed you, leave me be!" He screamed, nearly voiceless after the long hours of torture he spent yelling his lungs out. The girl shifted into a hunger demon and crossed the barrier as if it were water stemming from a waterfall. Cullen mustered up all his forces to swing at the thing, but he was too weak and crumbled to the floor. He very nearly passed out but then the demon, lured by a much tastier bait, left him to turn a corner. Minutes later the Hero of Ferelden arrived with her merry group of companions and that was the last straw. Very interesting choice of hallucination that was, he almost believed it. Cullen refused to believe in such a fortuitous rescue, pushed away the woman and her snickering minions. After a bit of explaining and convincing, he decided he didn't have any more fight in himself to refuse being saved, if it was another illusion, so be it. Lo and behold, an eternity later his prison vanished as quickly as it had formed. He swore eternal hatred to all mages who, prone to blood magic or not, weren't to be trusted, not ever. For all he cared, they could have been made Tranquil, all of them.

And after that, an awful lot of things happened.

He was sent to Kirkwall, all the way over to the other shore of the sea. Greagoir couldn't entrust him to stay within the Tower any longer, perhaps a friendly outing to the Free Marches would have done him some good. And after nearly ten years, he was here still. But Meredith had happened, and the Champion came along with his charm and his control over things his knees threatened to give in at the sight of. The apostate, Anders, came along as well, and of all things an apostate was prone to do, he did the one least likely to happen. The apostate destroyed the Chantry and it was then that Cullen's world widened beyond his comprehension. Without the Grand Cleric, he could have shaped the Gallows in a suitable fashion, which wouldn't have harmed the templars, like Uldred managed to do - and in the very core of the Circle, of all places a blood mage could have chosen to act -, and which gave the mages enough room so that they wouldn't have reason to turn to revolting means and demons' deals. He hated striking down Lydia as much as he hated having to struck down Meredith, but both had been necessary.

And then came Carver Hawke, just when he was about to give up his plan to achieve a healthy balance among the Circle, to give him strength anew. But Hawke came again to throw him back into his misery, a waking nightmare of loneliness and the thought of leaving everything behind felt closer than ever.

 

He shut everything out and went into hiding in his office to organize the rounds for the Harrowings of the week, but not without crossing the red haired apprentice down a hallway. She was giggling with another, shorter girl, elven by the looks of it, and Cullen suddenly felt self-aware, and something in his gut protested at the thought the two were laughing at him.

He banished such idiotic thought out of his head and focused on the task at hand.

And perhaps by chance, or maybe some mind-trick that made him act involuntarily, as if it hadn't happened enough times already, Cullen jotted down with a quick and elegant stroke of the quill Hawke's name beside the Harrowing of his friend. Was it cruel? Most likely. Was it necessary? Absolutely. Or so he believed, at least. When the same happened to him, he yelled at the Maker for it not to be true, for Lydia to please, please do well in the Fade but it was all for nothing. Thinking back, perhaps back at Kinloch the Knight-Commander had seen his attachment to the girl and purposely assigned him to her execution if need be to make him realize his duties, much as he was trying to do now with Hawke and the girl. But the undeniable sense of revenge clawed at him like a vulture on a succulent pray and he was torn between a sick sense of satisfaction for managing to find a way to punish the templar and the equally repulsing sensation of doing a great injustice to both of them. He cleared his mind once again and decided to leave it at that, she looked like a smart girl, maybe she was going to pass her Harrowing either way, no need to overthink it. Cullen came back to his paper, jotting down several templars' names beside the apprentices'.

After that, he moped around the Hall in a terrible mood and seeing Carver training or posted out the gates only added to his misery.

 

Two days later he was barely back to his chambers when the door he was about to shut closed was yanked open and the person he wanted to see the least marched forward.

A tight expression of hatred etched in his brow and the sharp jaw flexing looked back at him. If this was what expected him, perhaps Cullen had been right to assign Carver to the girl's Harrowing, if finding out that his duty as a Templar conflicted with his feelings was enough to tick the man off.

"Knight-Commander-" It was truly remarkable how he tried to maintain a respectable conduct but that too shattered shortly after. "What do you know? Why was I assigned to Yene's Harrowing?" Inquisitive tone, clenched fists and the man was standing in his room. If Cullen hadn't been at least a little afraid of receiving a beating from the younger man, he'd consider this a teasing invasion of privacy.

"I'll be clear with you, Hawke. There are no rules about this, yet. But the two of you have been overly close and I think it'd do you good to be reminded of your duties. As Templars, there are certain things we have to do to ensure the safety of mages as well as everyone else's. I apologize for assigning you to her Harrowing, but it's necessary." It was true, after all. He wouldn't have been a sadistic bastard like many other templars before him, he wouldn't have taken the slightest pleasure in seeing Carver strike down his sweetheart. The Knight had learned a long time ago to forgo personal accomplishments in favour of Templars' duties, it didn't matter how much he'd been disturbed at the sight of the man and the apprentice in the storeroom, if he was really determined to purse this course of action, it would have been simply as a Knight-Commander trying to teach a lesson to one of his subordinates, not as Cullen trying to quench his selfish and unreachable desires.

"Very well, Knight-Commander. I understand. Pardon my intrusion, it was most rude of me. Goodnight." His furrowed brow betrayed his words, but deep down Carver knew his commander wasn't wrong in his reasoning. All the same, it was going to be hard to face the apprentice in the hallways or at the time of the Harrowing in itself, knowing that if something were to happen, it was him the duty to kill her fell upon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here starts a section I'd like to simply name "Harrowing". It'll explore Carver's feelings and personality after the events of Dragon Age II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Carver/OFC ahead, pretty explicit but not vulgar.

When Carver bid farewell to his brother and the others, and left the manor in Varric's hands, he was determined to go back to the Templars, although it would have been easy enough to deceive everyone into believing he was dead along the other templars' corpses around the city or gone for good together with Garrett and Fenris. The Knight-Captain would have had to accept the idea whether he liked it or not. In the past years as a Templar, Carver had enjoyed Cullen's company and his firm hand when it came to hard decisions, and the way he complied to Meredith's orders had been a great quality of the man, until the Knight-Commander proved to be a murderous, possessed hag. He respected the Knight-Captain enough to keep his word to the Order, and on top of it all, he was already a deserter, he didn't want to run away from yet another duty. Although, many days he wondered if a man who has the sufficient clarity of mind to tell when a battle is lost and when it's wise to turn one's back to the bloodshed could really be considered a deserter. As much as he liked the idea of excusing himself for his escape from Ostagar, the rules were clear and he was indeed a deserter. Had it not been for Meredith’s thirst for new recruits to enhance the Templars' power he probably wouldn't have been accepted in the ranks. It was the one good thing he was grateful to Meredith for. He finally had found a reason to fight, to prove his worth. To rise from his brother's shadow once and for all.

And Yene reminded him so much of Beth, and his mother too. She was caring and kind, but stubborn and didn't change her mind easily. He appreciated her for that. Her beautiful hair made of flames had captured him, and her warm brown eyes were more than he hoped to find in a girl ever again. She reminded him of his sister in every possible good way, and some of the bad ways too. They argued sometimes, she was right, they shouldn't be together. Templar and apprentice was just a union waiting to be crushed but he had refused to give up, he held her tight and sighed deeply into her red locks, not willing to let her go. Carver had lost so many things in the past few years, Yene was the first sliver of sun in an otherwise dark room he felt trapped into. But as was Bethany most of the time, so was she: undoubtedly correct in her reasoning. They had to cut this off, whatever it was they had built over the months. A few stolen kisses, wet and unexperienced in deserted corners of the Gallows, brief embraces that smelled of sweat and burned straw in between his or her training. All the while, hidden from curious and judging stares that could have ruined everything. He really didn't know how Knight-Commander Cullen found out about her. Granted, he did cast fond looks her way when she passed, and touched her wrist lightly if they ever crossed paths going back to their respective quarters. Maybe the Commander had enough experience in the field to call him out on those small gestures, that's how he found out. But when the time of Yene's Harrowing was nearing, they did give in to the most intimate of passions in a dark storeroom while everyone else was having supper, and as much as he didn't like the thought, Carver couldn't help but suspect they'd been found or at least heard by the Commander right during that occasion. As much as he liked her, it hadn't been worth it. He was clumsy and uncertain, scared to be interrupted or discovered, he was afraid of the consequences both of them could have had to face. Considering how the Commander could have possibly known of them from that very, fleeting, encounter succeeded in spoiling the good memory he had of their meeting. And now that only a few more sunsets separated the girl from her fate, he couldn't help but feel sick at the thought of their first and perhaps soon to be last union in the small, empty room.

 

For a twenty-five year old as himself, Carver recognized he had an awful lot of inexperience still on his back, that should have already been replaced by smug confidence, but that wasn't the case. Before Kirkwall there was a girl, Peaches, back in Lothering. Last he heard of her, she was still alive and well, and maybe missed him too. He had kissed her, once, timidly on plump rosy lips and he felt like a hero who had just rescued his princess. The fact that shortly after that her attentions turned to Garrett made him feel miserable for even thinking she could be genuinely interested in him. Then came the Blight and Lothering was no more. And then Bethy was gone and a part of himself went to the Maker along with her. His twin, they'd been together for their whole lives, sharing more than he was comfortable admitting. Warm embraces when father took longer than usual to come back home at night, sleeping in the same bed when there was only one spare blanket to share and their feet too cold to ignore. As little kids they even used to bathe together, and when they went to the market all the women pinched their cheeks in unison and praised Leandra for having two beautiful, perfect treasures like them by her side. But Garrett was stronger, and a mage like father and he and Bethany were too young still to receive his attentions. Things changed a little as Carver and his sister grew, he had the strength, she had the magic flowing through her slender hands. But Garrett had both, and where Bethany didn't mind, it bothered Carver to no end that his older sibling cast a shadow over their skills.

Coming to Kirkwall after the ogre took her, along with some of himself, was insult to injury. Working their way into the city, living with Gamlen, resorting to the most despicable of jobs to gather the coin to go to the Deep Roads. And then be left behind at home with mother.

The betrayal stung like a swarm of wasps, but he was determined to be a loving son while Garrett left him and Leandra behind, in a dirty hovel in Lowtown, to pursue this or that reward the dwarven depths promised. And without his brother constantly reminding him that he was less, he joined the Order. At least they'd have some stipend to pay back Gamlen for his reluctant hospitality. The Knight-Captain welcomed him, trained him from time to time and in Cullen he found the brother he never had, who'd been too proud to teach his little brother how to be a man. And then Leandra finally had a chance to see the Viscount and told him how the old Amell Estate was overrun by slavers. Naturally no one wanted that fact to be shared, for everyone to know that slavery was strong inside the city and at its very core. The old Viscount Dumar was just about to refuse giving the estate back to their rightful owner when Garrett had to storm back in to save the day. With the coin earned with the expedition, they had enough to buy back the manor. Carver already resided at the templars' quarters in the Gallows by then and was grateful that his mother could finally live like the lady she was, but he still resented his brother for his ways. He was buying back their mother's love, that's what was going on.

 

Many things changed in the following years, the Qunari, the duel with the Arishok, the dreadful passing of their mother who left them both devoid of any will to carry on, the mages' underground and the conflict between the templars and the mages. And Anders, but that's a story for another day. At any rate, all those events made Carver change, ever so slightly, his opinion on his brother and at the end of the day he was once more by his side, the Hawke brothers fighting for what is just and fair, to stop violence and to stop an endless war from blossoming. Garrett was a changed man, and so was he. And then he was gone, leaving Carver behind to deal with his own destiny for once.

At last, Yene came and gave him a strength he didn't know he had lost until then. The thought of risking to lose her so soon crushed him every night.

But Cullen had been right many times over, he trusted this decision to be right as well. It was his duty and, Maker preserve him, Carver wasn't going to back down in front of it, not anymore. The countless battles he refused to stop, Ostagar, the Arishok, Orsino, Meredith, leaving them to others as if they weren't his own wars too. The Hero of Ferelden took care of the Blight, Garrett, the Champion of Kirkwall, took care of the rest. And he was cowering in fear in a corner. But he swore on all he'd lost and had not been able to avenge he would not back down once again. This time Carver would have stood, and faced his demons.

 

"Hey." It was almost lunchtime and the library was quickly emptying, only Yene still sat at a long table, surrounded by books.

"Hey, Carv." She smiled back at him, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"So, tomorrow." He sighed deeply, breath a little shaky in awareness of what the following day would've brought.

"Yes, there's something I want to tell you, Carver." But before she could speak further, the templar was holding her tightly, a pained frown making him look older and more tired.

"Can't it wait?" He pleaded, basking in the warmth that managed to reach him through the armour. In that moment he felt like he could suffocate in his very skin.

"... Yes." A small satisfaction that whatever worried her could be delayed.

"Good, I just want to stay with you."

"What if someone sees us?" Trembling whispers, shared between lovers before someone came to catch them, in secret.

"Come with me." One last time, just to remember her, warm and tight around him if she weren't to survive. To remember the way her skin and hair perfumed of cinnamon and burnt firewood, of hearth and home. All about her was heat, from her honeyed eyes to her fair, milky skin, even. In that moment, Carver did not care about the Order, did not care about the Circle, didn't care it was Kirkwall, the Gallows, a mouldy bookcase in the back of the library that surrounded them. Her robes made of simple cotton and perhaps something else felt like silk to him, and her silken skin felt like touching the Fade itself. She was like a dream, and if he could've swam into her one last time, weightless and peaceful, he would have done it.

They hid in an alcove made of two tall bookcases no one ever visited, filled with old and forgotten books no one read anymore. He gently pushed her back against the stone walls, and kissed her deeply, like his life depended on it. It was sweet and sour at the same time, the most perfect crash of lips and the most painful. He was afraid his hunger could've bruised her, but her mouth was pink and shiny and smiled back at him when they broke their link. With heavy eyelids and pupils blown with lust, she raised his templar robes, and he did the same with hers. Around them someone spoke and they stilled, bare legs exposed and goosebumps covering their skin at the thought of being found. Steps going further and a door shutting made them resume their lovemaking, and a few moments later Carver was bracing himself against the wall as she spread her legs. With one hand he hauled her up, back firmly pushed against the stone, while with the other he was half circling her shoulders and stroking her hair with a gauntleted hand, his forearm pressed behind her, to the wall. It was half a hold to keep upright, half a hold on his sanity, that he wasn't imagining this. It was perfect, even more than the other time, in the storeroom. It'd been perhaps more comfortable, with barrels and crates to use to sit upon or to fold against, but he felt more alive keeping up her weight and slowly pushing inside of her tight heat that he had ever felt before. She gasped in his black hair, her hot breath ruffling the hairs that stuck out from his armour at his nape. He thrust forward leisurely, burrowing deep and retreating almost completely for a few lunges of his hips. Shortly after, the lust became unbearable for both and she squeezed her legs around his middle, where she was being lifted from the ground, and he started moving erratically, sinking deep and shallow in equal measure, fast and frenzied.

As he neared his climax, he tore off his armoured gloves, dropping them to the ground with a metallic clunk that would've alerted them both if they hadn't been so drunk with desire. Carver let her down and her knees threatened to give out, but in a swift move his member was replaced by his strong fingers, stroking and bringing her to completion. His eyes were opened but barely so and his blue liquid irises were fixed on the mask of pleasure on her graceful features and he stroked himself with his idle hand and came with a stifled moan against her leg. His chest heaved with unparalleled delight and he felt breathless, much as Yene must have been. He fought the need for air to give in to the much more desperate desire to kiss her again, and she met him halfway, parting her lips and moaning feebly at the welcome intrusion of his tongue.

It was over too quickly, they had to leave lest someone came back from lunch and found them. In the heat of the moment, Carver forgot that the girl had something to tell him, and after a kiss to close that fleeting and perfect encounter, he rushed out of the library.

 

He saw nothing of her after that, for the rest of the day it was as if she'd disappeared entirely, but Carver assumed she was getting ready for her Harrowing the next day. Before turning in to his quarters, he shot a last glance at the roster for the assignments and a confused expression formed over his face. Why was his name next to someone else's Harrowing? But more importantly, why wasn't there Yene's name anymore? Surely some mistake, so the templar decided to inquire about the error with the Knight-Commander, not wanting to involve the First Enchanter, at least until the problem with the Order's side of the list had been cleared.


	7. Chapter 7

It was nearly sundown and he felt embarrassed about bothering the Commander this late, but he wouldn't have been able to sleep otherwise, if this bugging doubt hadn’t been  cleared first, and knowing that he would have performed poorly the next day without having slept that night, he decided it was worth a try.

He knocked but received no response and upon opening the door he was welcomed by an empty office. It was perhaps an exaggeration on his part, but he wanted answers and he couldn't talk to Yene herself, she was most likely getting ready to go to sleep back at the apprentices' quarters. Carver figured that the Commander would've gladly clarified the situation, provided he was still available to talk it with him.

The templar reached his commander's quarters and knocked without faltering but being careful not to sound too insistent.

No answer. The door wasn't locked and Carver was well-aware that getting inside without permission was a very substantial lack of discipline, worth of punishment, but right there and then, an oppressing fear gripped at him tight from the inside and the desire to have an explanation about the changes in the roster had the best of him. He wouldn't have dared to tell it to himself, but thinking about Yene's missing name from the list of Harrowings led to the only possible explanation and he wouldn't have admitted to it unless he heard it, straight from the Commander.

Gingerly, he pushed the door open and hovered on the threshold, held back when his manners got the best of him. The room was tidy and clean, the sheets on the large bed stretched without the shadow of a single wrinkle. On the armour stand was the Knight's uniform, polished and neatly set. There was no sign of the Commander.

The templar considered leaving but as he thought as much, a door at the far side of the bedroom opened, a huff of steam escaping before a man stepped in, out of what he then presumed being the bathing chamber.

The commander was undressed, with only a damp towel secured around his waist and with both hands he was using a cloth on his wet hair, unaware of the guest in his room.

"Erhm." Carver cleared his throat as discretely as possible but the other man got startled anyway at the intrusion.

"Maker! Hawke?" Cullen dropped his towel and the one that covered him very nearly fell to the ground as well as he jerked away from the source of the sound.

"I apologize for the intrusion, Commander. I needed to speak to you. It was most disrespectful of me to enter your chambers without consent." With a steady voice and eyes to the ground, he spoke. Seeing how it would have been even more disrespectful to speak to his commander without looking at him in the eye, he looked up.

"I- I'll... leave, now. I'm... I'm so- sorry, Commander." He wasn't one to shy away like that, but the embarrassment in Cullen's face was mirrored in Carver's own trembling voice and he too felt like sinking through the floor. On top of having entered his chambers without regard of his privacy, he stumbled upon a freshly bathed Knight-Commander and he couldn't help but feel like the worst self-centred bastard of the garrison. He was short of blasting out of the room but he was interrupted.

"Wait outside Hawke. I'll get dressed and we can talk, then." So gracious. Meredith would have had his head on a spike if the same had happened. But then again, the former Knight-Commander would have had him executed if she as much as suspected he was having an affair with an apprentice, but Cullen had been way more open about that. Things had really changed an awful lot since the battle against Meredith and he was ever as grateful to his superior for the way he was handling things, his subordinates included.

"Th- thank you, Knight-Commander Cullen." And with that he was out of the room, feeling his cheeks flush deeply.

He heard rustling and then he was instructed to get back inside.

The commander wore house clothes, a simple dark red tunic and breeches, he was barefoot and his hair were matted and dripping on his shoulders, but he did not care about the cold drops dampening his collar.

"Hawke. I fear I know why you came, and I'm afraid to tell you that if you're suspecting something, your suspicion is most likely."

"I just wanted to know what happened to my assignment, Commander."

He looked like it physically hurt him to answer, but he was the Knight-Commander, conversations like this were the norm around the Gallows, he had to deliver such news and did so with an heavy heart of his own, justified by his past experience at Kinloch.

"The answer to your inquiry is that you've been reassigned to another apprentice that will have his Harrowing tomorrow. But perhaps you want to know why that is, or rather, where has your friend's Harrowing gone." Carver swallowed a sour knot that nestled in his throat and that he did not want to acknowledge and just nodded slowly. The older templar sighed, and the impression that Cullen's chest was tightening as he spoke was even more palpable.

"Normally I shouldn't have to tell this to the templars, unless they're directly involved. But seeing how you are involved in this in a more intimate and less official way, I believe you have a right to know nonetheless. This morning your friend requested to be made Tranquil, thus foregoing her Harrowing. That explains the change in the roster."

His knees were giving out, he held against the door frame.

"The rite will take place tomorrow, in the late morning. I am afraid I cannot let you speak to her. This was her decision and any further involvement from the templars would be highly intrusive and inconsiderate on my part and the Order's." He suddenly felt hollowed, like all the air and blood inside his body were taken out of him and thrown away. He was on the verge of tears, perhaps from the blow this news was to him, perhaps from the pressure in his chest.

"But, I know for a fact she'll be in the chapel at dawn to pray the Maker before the Rite takes place. If you wish to meet with her, that's your chance. You might wish to talk her out of it, and you might succeed. In that case I'll personally intervene to back up her change of heart. But be careful not to be seen when you visit her." Cullen had closed in on him and was gently patting his shoulder, almost stroking it, and it felt like a much needed reassurance, despite the metal of his armour that separated them.

"Knight-Commander, I- I don't know what to say. I don't know how to thank you for informing me, I know this is well beyond your duties. Thank you. Thank you, Commander." Carver felt like he could cry right there in front of his commander, half from the despair of finding out his fears to be grounded, half of relief for knowing something could still be done.

"I know what it's like Hawke, I acted poorly once and ruined someone's life as well as mine. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice. You're a valuable man and I'd go as far as to consider you a friend after all that has happened. If there's anything I can do, I will do it. I'm sorry this is all my position can grant, but I have to look out for the Order as well." The hand was gone from his shoulder and on the templar's face was an expression Carver recognized as being one of sadness and regret. The same he felt when Bethy died and he was powerless to do anything to bring her back.

"You've done more than I could've hoped, Commander. Thank you and I apologize again for invading your privacy. If I have to be punished for that, so be it, it was most inappropriate of me." And with that and arms crossed over his chest, Carver bowed deeply, in a Fereldan fashion that was not lost in front of a man such as Cullen who could recognize the gratitude behind that gesture. The young man left the room without leaving his superior time to either issue a fitting punishment for his insolence, or worse, to deny him one when he knew he deserved it.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait but with New Year's Eve and the beginning of January I had a lot of things to take care of. Anyway, here's the new chapter. Please, leave a comment to let me know what you're thinking of this so far, it would make me so happy and I'm actually looking forward to post the next few chapters, they're gonna be the ones I liked writing the most and I can't wait to know what you think of them.  
> Enjoy! Sort of...

No, Cullen was not going to make the same mistake twice. It broke his heart to see Carver, in all his innocence and purity dealing with the terrible destiny all mages have to face. The man was fond of the girl and it broke Cullen's heart when First Enchanter Lenwen had told him about the apprentice making a request to undergo the Rite of Tranquility. He had to keep a stoic façade and a professional attitude at the discovery. But he was fond of Hawke at least as much as the man was of his sweetheart, and the pain of the younger templar was his own at the Enchanter's words. Facing a Tranquil was perhaps harder and more cruel than facing a demon in the form of the one you once loved, and he didn't wish that fate on his enemy. He lost Lydia to the Fade and now the red haired apprentice was losing the Fade to save herself but at a terrible cost. If there was anything Cullen could do to soothe Carver's pain, he would have done it, and if there was a way to prevent the girl from resorting to Tranquility he was willing to pursue it so that the templar didn't have to bear the mark of her choice as much as she would have to. He went to sleep with a burden over his chest only the following morning could have melted or hardened even more.

When the sun rose, he was awake, if anything for the sense of awareness that somewhere in Templar Hall Hawke was equally vigil and waiting to have a word with the apprentice. He did not want to interfere so he waited before asking Lenwen for the list of apprentices to undergo the Rite on that day, in hopes he wouldn't have heard the girl's name. But the Enchanter mentioned her as well, along a few others.

Cullen went, around noon, to the room assigned for the function. Perhaps the apprentice was going to announce her change of plans directly at the moment of her rite. He had to attend, by any means.

 

It was a room of medium size, a stone basin positioned in the middle of it, full to the brim with a light blue, glowing liquid. Lyrium. At its side was a brazier filled with lively orange coals that crackled feebly under the weight of a branding iron. The tip was of an undefined colour, but Cullen knew it being made out of lyrium, and the coals sparked blue where they touched the sunburst-shaped metal tip. Inside the chamber along with him was the First Enchanter and a Tranquil, who stood, impassive, by her side. Hawke was not allowed, and Cullen could only imagine the condition of the templar as he took part to someone else's Harrowing at the other side of the Gallows, unaware of his lover's fate. He did not know what the girl's words to him must have been but since she was about to walk in, accompanied by a Templar older than he was, he had to guess Carved had not succeeded in making her change her mind.

"Yene Heinhall, you should have taken your Harrowing on this date, but you requested for the Rite of Tranquility instead. Is that correct?" The tone of Lenwen's voice was severe and detached, but he could see how this was affecting her as well.

"Yes, First Enchanter Lenwen, it's true." The girl stepped forward, eager to get it over with, most likely.

"May I ask why you decided against your Harrowing, and chose to undergo the Rite instead?" Cullen interjected, much to the Enchanter's and the girl's surprise, but it wasn't unheard of Commanders to inquire in these cases.

"Well, Commander. I'm aware of the fact that my abilities are not what is expected of me and I fear I would meet the Maker if I chose to take the Harrowing. It's dangerous and despite having been deemed ready for it, I don't feel able to pass it and become a mage, ser." Her voice shook a little, but not enough for Cullen to doubt her decision. She was set and ready to commit to the fate she had chosen for herself. The Harrowing was indeed deadly in some cases, but Tranquility was a hard decision to make and he couldn't explain to himself why she would have chosen this path, especially considering the worldly attachments she would have had to leave behind as a Tranquil.

"I understand. But perhaps if I, along with the First Enchanter, granted you more time to prepare for your Harrowing… perhaps then you would be more willing to undertake it instead of being made Tranquil." This was probably too much, and it was getting most suspicious of him to push the matter. As a matter of fact, Lenwen looked his way as if he'd grown a second head. It was the first time she had heard a Templar try and convince an apprentice to refuse the Rite, when usually it was the other way around. Pretty much everyone at the Gallows had understood how different Cullen's approach from the older ways was, but from granting more freedoms to mages to demonstrating refusal in the face of an apprentice's formal request for the Rite there was an huge distance to cover and it was the Knight-Commander they were talking about. If she hadn't known better, she could have suspected the Commander to be involved with the girl somehow, but he was much too prudish and discreet to do such a thing. Lenwen, however, didn't have to counter his proposal because the girl immediately refused with a passion.

"I'm sorry, ser, but I already made up my mind. I'd rather survive this day and be of some use to my fellow companions than die, never to be seen again. I've seen what a Tranquil is like- " she looked over to the man who stood beside the Enchanter. "And I'm sure of this. I don't trust myself enough for the Harrowing, but I trust myself enough to know this decision favours me and everyone I know." He disagreed internally, thinking of Carver.

"Very well. Terence, if you might." He moved to the side, giving way to the Tranquil and Lenwen as they went on with the Rite, already cringing at the thought of Hawke and how it was his duty as Commander - and friend - to inform him of what had transpired and what had happened to the apprentice.

He was not looking forward to exit the room to go over to attend that day's Harrowings, he would have rather gone back to his room to think of a thoughtful way to inform Hawke but no measure of thinking could have provided him with the right way to do it, so he abandoned his plan and exited the room along with Yene, who now carried a sunburst brand on her forehead.

It was with an heavy step that he carried himself over to the Harrowing chamber. Once inside he asked Knight-Captain Varley how it was proceeding with the apprentices. A few minutes later the boy came back all in one piece, staggering a bit on his way to the exit but smiling shyly at his success. The First Enchanter had to oversee another Rite and then she would've joined them. One of the younger templars clutched at his sword, almost as if to check it was still there and another apprentice stepped into the Fade, a smug grin painted across her sharp features. She came back, breathing heavily and eyes opened wide, and the templar started unsheathing his sword, gulping soundly and starting to sweat at his brow. A feeble laugh and she said "I made it. Maker, that was quite the feat." and recomposed herself, laughing when the templar's knees started giving out under his weight. The young man exited the room and in his place Hawke entered, his usual two-handed strapped over his back and a smaller, one-handed sword sheathed at his side, the one he would have used for the Harrowing he was about to foresee.

The templar froze as soon as he laid eyes upon Cullen and he couldn't hide his own bitterness as he looked back at the younger man and slowly shook his head, and he couldn't help but look guilty for not having been able to do anything. It was almost as if Carver was prepared for such an outcome, did he not trust Cullen to be able to make the girl change her mind? Maybe he was right, after all he hadn't been able to change anything. Slowly, Hawke entered the room fully and positioned himself beside his Commander, awaiting the apprentice whose Harrowing he'd been assigned to.

It was clear as day he was holding back tears, grief, hatred, anger. Cullen suddenly felt a jolt of pain at the thought of those emotions piercing at Hawke from the inside, but thinking about how Carver could have been done for if he were an apprentice going for his Harrowing in his present state of mind was enough for him to focus back at the task at hand.

The apprentice was an elvhen boy, quite young, but you cannot really tell with elves. There was a unique light in his eyes, like resolution, but his shoulders shook lightly and Cullen feared Carver would've had to be the first to strike that day, of all templars.

The boy laid on the ground for what felt like ages, but no one objected to the length of time he spent in the Fade so they would've waited some more before thinking the worst had happened. The body shook lightly and everyone in the room was startled. A faint red light lit his robes and in a matter of moment they changed to flames and molten, burning matter. Cullen was ready to strike the abomination down, but Carver preceded him, cutting the demon down like it was butter under his blow. Steady and powerful, without flinching, Hawke had kept his resolve and complied to his duties. Cullen would've been proud of him but he knew that sort of dedication, during such a delicate moment for the man was a sign of weakness. It was not normal to react to the news the girl you loved was made Tranquil this way, he should've asked to be excused but he did not, instead deciding to focus on the task at hand, impassive. It was almost as if Hawke too had been made Tranquil.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing says oblivion quite like a night spent drowning sorrow in seas of ale. Carver has one pint too many, Cullen follows behind. Cullen's POV of the night after Yene's Tranquility.

He saw nothing of the man for the rest of the day, after Hawke's assignments had ended, he just vanished. He was nowhere in the Hall and Yene was most probably recovering and in her quarters. Cullen believed it very unlikely that Carver would've infringed her seclusion for the time being, both for her and his current condition where else could the templar had gone?

The knight decided that between getting drunk off Antivan brandy, alone in his room with a lone candle lit on his desk and the alienating crowd of the Hanged Man, and getting drunk off watered down ale, the latter felt more fitting to his present state of mind. And perhaps Carver was there.

He decided to ditch the uniform, and dressed in more suitable attire for the tavern. He didn't want to stick out like a sore thumb, but he didn't want to feel vulnerable either, and if something happened, he wanted to maintain a modicum of authority.

So he opted for a variant of his uniform that consisted of fabric breeches, a thin breastplate with a burgundy vest draped over, to, perhaps, hide the piece of armour. He considered wearing pauldrons but a trip to Lowtown with those on was calling for a mugging and he wasn't feeling like enforcing order now of all times. He was tired and worn after the long day and he really wanted to soak in a hot bath now but he wanted to get drunk off his head more, so he left the Gallows as discretely as possible.

As expected, Carver was sitting at the back of the room, a nice looking maid was approaching him, a smile on her face that vanished when the man didn't acknowledge her sweet-talking and just cared about chugging down the ale she served him as quickly as humanly possible.

Cullen sat at the counter, and ordered a pint as well, he didn't want to face the templar, not completely sober.

When he felt flushing and his tongue felt like it had gotten loose enough, he rose from his stool and went over to Carver's lone table.

"Hawke..."

"Commander? What are you doing here?" He looked up at him with the most wretched expression. His eyes were red and his hair ruffled as if he'd gone through them with his hands countless times in frustration. He could've sworn those were the dried trails of tears on his cheeks but perhaps it was the dim light that cast wavering shadows across his face. Carver's jaw clenched and he suddenly seemed older than his years, and tired, undoubtedly.

"I felt like getting drunk, perhaps for the same reason as you."

"Why would yours be the same reason as mine?" His brow furrowed in what looked like outrage at the idea the Commander understood what he was going through.

"I tried all that was in my power, but I couldn't do anything. And it opened old scars, Hawke. I'm sorry, you have no idea."

Carver scoffed, was it as a mocking gesture, or one of surrender?

"I'm sure you did. I asked Terence on my way to the Harrowings and he explained. Maker, I couldn't believe him. But I guess a Tranquil wouldn't lie..." A heavy silence descended upon them, saying the word out loud stung Cullen and the other man alike.

"I'm so-"

"Don't be. Thanks, you tried. I'll go talk to her tomorrow, or the day after, or the next. I want to understand what happened. If I'll manage to get up. I drank way too much." He let out a dry laugh, completely devoid of anything that usually stood beneath laughter. It was the sound of sorrow, of mocking and of surrender, he was sure now.

"Let's go back to the Gallows."

"Just let me finish this pint. Templar salary is what it is, but I paid for it, I'm drinking it." And with a long, endless sip, lips parted and flushed, he downed the ale without coming up for air, it was as if he was trying to drown in it.

Cullen finished his own pint and held out an arm to hold up his companion out the Hanged Man and into the dusty, cold air of Lowtown.

The way back on the tiny boat was refreshing, the air washed over him as the waves gently lulled them. He could've fallen asleep, Carver tightly holding onto him. He was probably crying but the air dried the tears as they bloomed at the corners of his eyes. The whites were reddened and the small blood vessels looked like tiny maps that showed the roads of grief, his bright, blue eyes like a cracking lake. He felt lost inside Carver's eyes as they looked back at him, as if asking "Are we there yet? Can I let go of this mask I'm trying to hide behind?" and he held him tighter.

They went up the steps of the Gallows as silently as possible but Carver was still wearing his armour and his boots stumped down quite noisily. Cullen approached the templars' quarters but right then Carver made a retching noise and an "uh-oh" sound like something was very wrong and the older man suddenly turned away from the hallway they had been walking down on. He couldn't put Carver to bed as if nothing had happened, and the Commander, of all people, entering the templars' quarters to tuck into bed a drunk and miserable soldier would have been the cherry on top of that terrible day. And the fact that Carver shouldn't have been allowed to just go into town, get pissed drunk only to have an hangover the next morning would have been way worse than Hawke being outright missing from his bed.

So Cullen took pity in the already unfortunate templar and hauled him towards his own quarters instead.

"This is not the templars' quarters, I'm going to bed now."

"Hush, you can't be found out in this state, you'll rest in my room until you feel better. We really don't need you to get punished for getting drunk on top of what happened, already."

"No, ser, we don't want that, no." He was flushed in his cheeks and all the way down his collarbones, and the watery eyes were half for misery, half for the alcohol.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

"Thanks Commander, you're the most kind. So helpful, even though you're the Commander." His heart was aching at the words. The look Carver gave him was indeed one of gratitude, the sweetest thing, but the not-so-hidden melancholy was heart breaking to bear.

"I'm also your friend, Hawke."

"Yes, that too. Hahaha yes." He took in a long breath and went back to his serious expression, and he started taking off his armour, clumsily.

Cullen helped as he could, but another pair of hands made the removal all the more awkward. He turned to his wardrobe and removed his own uniform instead.

When he was down to his breeches he cast a look upon the other man and noticed he was already in his smallclothes and getting under the blanket.

"Sorry for helping myself but I feel kind of cold"

"It's fine but you should drink some water or you'll feel awful in the morning."

"That'd be just another thing to feel awful about, right? Fine, I'll have the water, I don't want to feel like shit for this too." Cullen passed him a metal jug and a cup and Carver drank straight from the former, a little trickle of water escaping his mouth and rolling down his chest, that moved fast when he resurfaced for air.

"Happy? Ugh I already feel like shit."

He took off his breeches and went to bed, beside Carver.

"I'm snuffing the lights, alright?"

"I'm not some little kid, I can handle dark." He tripped over his words but with a soft thud he burrowed his head in the pillow and closed his eyes tight.

"Alright." He blew on the candle on his bedside table and wiggled down under the blanket.

All was dark and from the body that lied beside him came a soothing warmth, generated without a doubt by the alcohol in the man's blood heating him up.

"I miss her already." It was pitch black and Carver was whispering so faintly he thought he'd imagined it. "She's not even dead and I miss her. She'll never be the same, I really liked her. I didn't know her all that well but I feel empty. And hurt. And maybe betrayed too."

"I'm sorry."

"What for? You did what you could, I couldn't have asked for more, Commander."

"I still feel like I should apologize. I'm sorry you have to go through this pain."

"I'll get over it. It's not the first time I get left behind."

And he wanted, desperately, to assure Carver that he wouldn't have left him behind, ever, but the words died in his throat, he would've felt like he was taking advantage of the situation, so he kept silent.

A few minutes later the sheets rustled and Carver was by his side, his skin touching Cullen's, his hair brushing his cheek.

"You're warm."

"I'm not, you are. It's the ale."

"Oh right. Maker, how much did I have?" And then his breathing steadied and maybe he draped an arm across Cullen's middle, he couldn't tell for sure. Maybe he was in the Fade already and this was another fleeting sensation produced by his own mind.

 

Cullen woke up very early, at sunrise, an acid burn at the back of his throat, he was never one to hold alcohol very well. His head spun lightly but he didn't care. Carver was clutching at his pillow by his side, a peaceful expression written across his features that turned to a frown from time to time. He sat there, the morning temperatures getting at him through the walls, and his skin chilled at the light breeze that entered the slit in the windowsill. He believed he could smell the fragrance of sea, salt and stone and hear a distant crashing of waves. He wondered what Carver's eyes looked like now, after an evening of crying and a dreamless sleep, if they would've been still red and sore or clear, blue and deep, like a hidden lake inside a secret cave.

He got up and decided to draw a bath for himself. His muscles melted with the enveloping heat of the water and the perfume of spices he tossed into the tub filled his nostrils with memories of exotic places.

He took his time, emptied the tub and then put some more water over the hearth to prepare a bath for when Carver would've woken up.

Rustling a damp towel over his hair, he went back to his room, and the other man was sitting on the bed, his head between his hands, he looked in pain.

"Carver? Hungover?"

"Mpf, quite." He grunted and threw himself back down on the sheets.

"Have some water, I'm preparing a bath for you to clear out your head. I can look for some tonic..."

"No, it's fine."

"Carver, it's alright. I'll go find something."

"Please, don't. I- my head is spinning, I don't trust myself with the bath. Could you..."

"Yes, I'll wait for you." Carver mouthed a silent word of gratitude and slowly, a little unsteady, rose from his nest of blankets and walked over to the bathing chamber.

Cullen sat at his desk and considered taking a sip of the brandy he had stashed in his drawer, but decided against it. He heard a sloshing noise and assumed the bathtub was being filled, and he poured himself a cup of water. He stared at the metal cup in his hand, swirling the liquid that was left at the bottom around with a flick of his wrist. No noise was coming from the other room and he grew more worried as time went on. What if Carver was indeed drowning because of his drowsiness? He had to check to make sure all was fine.

Carver was soaked down to his chin, his eyes shut tight in a pained expression. His hands held unto the edge of the tub with white knuckles and his hair was pushed back.

Cullen cleared his throat, not wanting to disturb the other man who instantly shot his eyes open and stared at him.

"I did hear any noise, I got worried." A tiny smile quirked his lips.

"I was just... thinking."

"Not a good idea in your present state. Your head must be killing you."

"Not as much as I'd expect. I remember you giving me some water last night. Worldly magic at work, I don't feel sick at all. Thanks." He stepped over to the tub, although considering how everything was fine and dandy he didn't have any reason to do so. Carver was very much alright and did not need his help in any way, or at least so it appeared.

"I... I don't know what to do." His mouth was now underwater, distorted with the ripples of the water.

Cullen couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed. He was towering over the tub and although the water was cloudy with soap, Carver was there in front of him, bared in more ways than just the literal one.

"You'll figure it out. You'll go talk to her and see what she has to say."

"I don't think I want to hear what she has to say, I don't think I want to see her in that state."

He grabbed a stool and sat beside the templar.

"What did she say at the chapel?" It was a whisper of a question and he felt like he was invading something intimate asking about such a thing.

"She refused my help, she refused to change her mind. Said she couldn't make it out alive and would've rather lived on and help out others. It broke my heart." Again that pained expression Cullen couldn't help but mirror on his own. He raised a hand and it hovered over Carver's shoulder, but he decided it wasn't what he'd want if he were in his shoes. He wouldn't have wanted to be pitied. His hand dropped down in his lap.

But it was Carver who, with a dripping wet hand, searched for him until he found his neck. The younger man craned his head to the side and slowly opened his blue, captivating eyes to look at his commander.

"Thanks for everything. For trying, for coming to the Hanged Man, for taking care of me. I don't know what I would've done if it hadn't been for you." A faint pressure on his neck meant Carver was trying to drawn him towards himself, Cullen rose from the stool and helplessly followed the other man's hand's direction. Carver pulled him towards his chest and embraced him, burrowing his face in the crook of Cullen's shoulder. The knight was bracing against the side of the tub, he felt like another tug and he would've gladly jumped into the water with Carver, drowned with him perhaps.

Carver sobbed once, then twice in his neck and his tunic quickly dampened of water and tears alike.

It felt like the longest time before Carver apologized with a wet whisper in his ear that stirred him to his very core, and let him go.

Cullen was flustered and uncertain of what to do, so he nodded briefly, acknowledging the whole ordeal they'd gone through during the previous night and the morning and went back to his chambers to dress for the day.

Carver soon did the same and they parted after shaking hands and patting each other's back, at the Gallows everyone was none the wiser of the events of those past hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of this "Season Finale" so to speak. The next chapter will be Carver's POV of the night and morning. After that, a new arc will begin focusing on Cullen, being a templar, lyrium addiction and withdrawal, and it's something I can't wait to post for you! Comments and feedback HIGHLY appreciated, but in the meantime, thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver's POV of what happened after the night he got drunk.

He was inebriated, he wanted to forget and to hold onto all the memories he had of her at the same time. His chest tightened but he kept on downing the tepid, tasteless ale. He wanted to get drunk, to be a floating mass of limbs and just stop being Carver. It took more pints than he cared to admit, in these cases being able to hold his booze wasn't helping any, but his vision was blurred enough he felt satisfied with the result. Then someone came over and next he remembered he was on a boat, lulling him to sleep with the cold night air lashing at his cheekbones.

His body was a shiver and a fire all at once and he stumbled and tripped over his own feet on the way up the Gallows. And then he was taking his bracers off, unlatching the belts that held his breastplate in place, sliding out of the velvety templar robes that clung to the sweat on his stomach and tangled around his ankles. It was a mess but the pull of gratitude he felt towards Cullen was inexplicable, like a warm heat engulfing him. But he wanted to scream, cry, at least sob some more like he did for the whole afternoon at the Hanged Man. He drank the water his commander handed him with such eagerness he feared he was involuntarily trying to drown himself in it.

The light went out, the blankets rustled and the knight was lying beside him. His head pulsed and throbbed like the echo of an hammer on an anvil and his eyes stung as if he'd swum in the salty sea to come back to the Gallows.

Cullen's skin was radiating heat and he felt drawn towards him like moths to fire.

"You're warm." He whispered, his face almost completely hidden by the sheet, his breath swirled under the fabric and he felt the warmth of it on his cheeks.

"I'm not, you are. It's the ale." Such a gentle voice, he could've fallen asleep against his welcoming shoulder, so close an yet so distant.

"Oh right. Maker, how much did I have?" Carver was dozing off and tried to move a little bit closer to the other man, careful not to touch him in any way. The Commander had been kind enough to host him so graciously in his private chambers, he wouldn't have taken advantage of the situation. He felt empty and alone, but trying to get the affection he was missing from Cullen was too much even for him. He wasn't a stranger to brief moments of passion, and he tried to repress the thought of that day in the storeroom, or the one in the library, just him and Yene, but trying to turn the Commander's goodwill into a chance to have what his body longed for would have meant he was willing of taking advantage of him, and he couldn't have done that, not ever.

This was good, it was enough. Cullen cared for him enough to shield him from the punishment that would definitely have stemmed from his sudden disappearance from the Gallows and subsequent intoxication with cheap ale. He cared enough to offer him water, so that his head wouldn't have to be tortured with physical pain in the morning when they both knew there were enough thoughts to give him anguish without having to add his drunken state to the list. And as much as he would've liked to be held, to have a warm hand stroking his back in soothing motions, to be shushed and told everything was going to be fine, the Commander was not the right person to give him what his body desperately desired.

But one of his arms slipped and he didn't move it when it came to wrap around Cullen's torso. Perhaps this was enough, hopefully he wouldn't have even noticed. He fell asleep, his own alcohol-induced warmth seeping into the skin of the knight's abdomen and enclosing them both in a comfortable embrace under the covers.

He didn't usually dream when he got drunk, but that day's events had been far from usual, hence his strange journey through the Fade.

He awoke in his slumber to find himself in a copy of Lothering, but the corners of his vision were blurred and dyed of green. The grass had a smoke-like consistency and the clouds moved across the green sky painstakingly slow, despite the breeze that blew around him. His arms were bared and he was dressed like he was when he left his home, many years prior.

He entered his house, his father and his mother were still, staring into the void in front of them. The fire that crackled in the hearth was of an alien tinge of orange and the flames looked as if they were frozen in place.

He stepped over the threshold and walked to his room. A bed he couldn't recognize, wider than normal, with plush blankets bordered in gold thread sat in the middle of the otherwise empty chamber. He sat on the bed and laid down, only to find Bethany staring at him as soon as he turned to his side. Her presence startled him and he should've felt a pang of sadness at the vision, but instead he felt as if that was a moment suspended in time, before she died, before he left. He smiled and she smiled back. A sense of acknowledgement that shouldn't have been there washed over them both and he melted between her open arms and started sobbing for Yene. His tears were smoke, the bed was made of fog, Bethany's embrace was ethereal but soothing in its lack of weight, pressure and warmth.

When he resurfaced from her robes, she looked at him with empty eyes, an horrid mark still burning at the centre of her forehead, a flaming sun.

She spoke in a monotonous tone that shook him.

"Why are you crying, brother?" He jerked away from her, and woke up with a jolt in the real world. The Fade was gone but the blur was still in front of his eyes, in the darkness of the room that felt like thick, black smoke choking him. He went back to sleep, but when he saw Cullen, turned the other way, he snuggled closer, instinctively searching for his heat and hoping the other man wouldn't have noticed or minded in the morning. He feared further visions of Tranquility, but the slumber engulfed him before he had time to protest.

 

It felt like talking to a statue. Made of clay, pliant under one's touch, earthly colour that warmed under the sun, the curves of her body sculpted with precision and strain. But she otherwise felt empty, devoid of any connection to the ones that surrounded her. Carver was blissfully ignorant when it came to understanding the Fade, he never cared enough to listen to Bethany or Garrett ramble about their dreams and complaining about how hard it was to dodge the demons that followed them in their nightly journeys. But he knew enough to know Yene's connection with the Fade had been severed completely. She could hear no spirit, no demon, not one call asking her to seal a deathly deal. But she felt no emotional drives, no impulses, nothing. While he was rutting and running in his dreams, she was still and was blind where he saw a blinding green mist instead. It was truly unfair, but this was her decision. It was done, there was no undoing it. Carver remembered of what his brother had told him, about Anders and Justice, pulling his friend back from Tranquility for a few seconds. But Anders was Maker knew where and Justice along with him, and the pain of seeing Yene go back into her emotionless state if she were ever to be brought back would've been too great for him to bear.

With a monotonous tone she told him what he already knew.

She loved him, but not quite enough to forsake her own safety for his affections. She was convinced she would've died had she tried her luck with the Harrowing and wanted instead to be useful and alive, she thought it was the only logical solution. She told him of how Cullen had tried to stop her, but her mind was set to purpose and she wouldn't have turned back.

Carver was on the verge of tears, and Yene's overly rational mind supplied him with a soothing word that was all but relieving.

"Do not be sad for me. This is good, I am satisfied with the state of things. Go back to work. Good day, ser."

He would've shattered to pieces if the armour hadn't been there to keep him together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this ends the first arc of the fic, the one that focused on the relationship between Carver and Cullen, on the duties of templarhood and all that good stuff a nice cloister of bigoted and closeted men brings out of the studs we all came to love. Just kidding.


End file.
